


before i end my day

by Princess_andromeda



Series: the spoiled wind and the gentle cloud [7]
Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Adult Content, Darkfic, Demons, Ghosts, Haunting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2017-07-21
Packaged: 2018-12-04 23:09:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11565273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princess_andromeda/pseuds/Princess_andromeda
Summary: Letting go of the past, Soma discovers, is something rather difficult. Especially when it comes to suddenly haunt you.





	before i end my day

**Author's Note:**

> **Post Ch. 130, non-canon divergent. Warning for adult content and OoCness from Agni. Continue at your own risk.**
> 
> _ “So before I end my day, _
> 
> _ remember, My Sweet Prince, _
> 
> _ you are the one.” _
> 
> ―Placebo; “My Sweet Prince”

The wind rustles and shadows are cast from the moonlight filtering from the window. In nights like these, Soma wishes he hadn’t bought such a big place. With so many holes on the walls, so many creaking floors, so very little servitude and so many solitude. Lightning strikes across the hallways and bolt comes soon after, the mood just perfect for one of Mr. Doyle’s novels.

Soma had woken up to the feeling of emptiness on his stomach, and so he chose to act on the sudden idea of taking a midnight snack. A robe over his usual night clothes and a candle to light his way, he walks to the kitchen. The usual sounds of the storm amplified within the narrow walls, in contrast with the eerie silence; the cobwebs his servants needed to clean later from the corners. Soma keeps walking despite all that. He is not detouring from his destiny, feeble as it may be.

Once he opens the cherry wood doors to his kitchen, he walks to the pantry, where his cook always keeps the extra bread before it went stale. The taste of soft pastry against his dry mouth may not be the most satisfying one, but it would have to do for now.

“Care for a cup of milk, My Prince?” Soma looks towards the door where Agni stood, a tray of tea in his arms and the always-there gentle expression in his face. In his sleepy state, the young man does not dare to wonder how his dear khan is there, by his side, and not a couple of miles into the Ganges in the form of dust. Soma nods, accepting gracious the offer for a warm drink.

The butler goes to work quickly, taking the milk and pouring it into a pot along with some spices and honey, measuring them so it can be perfect for his prince. The sweet aroma coming out of it while the milk heats up is intoxicating, and the lord of the house cannot help but hum in delight. Of course his capable khan could do something like this.

When Agni is finished, he hands Soma a mug containing some of the beverage, ready to be consumed. As he brings the cup to his lips, already expecting the softness and the spiciness of the drink.

But it never comes.

The liquid is entering through his mouth, yes, but he does not feel it. He does not feel the warmth entering, he does not feel the watery object go through his oesophagus, he does not feel like replenishing liquids at all. He frowns at it.

“Is something the matter, Prince?” Soma stares at Agni, who is also wearing a frown. “Is it not to your liking?”

Soma raises his head, thinking of a suitable answer. But when his gaze is ready to meet his friend’s, the butler is no longer there. Nor the mug. Nor the warmth in the room. Nothing is, actually.

Soma idly wonders if he is going mad.

* * *

Soma wakes up the next morning to the same churning in his stomach.

* * *

Over the course of the week, the prince notices a couple of objects gone missing. Some adorns from the smoking room, one of the minor tapestries in the reading room, his chef also asked if he had taken objects from the kitchen, people gone from the paintings…, things of the sort.

Soma is thinking about having a serious talk with his main butler.

* * *

On the sixth night after the Agni incident, Soma wakes up because he wishes to have a drink. So he wraps the robe around himself and walks to the smoking room. Taking a brandy bottle from the shelves along with a glass and sits on one of the chairs. He serves himself a drink and waits for the alcohol to relax him.

“I never thought you fancied spirits, My Prince.” Someone murmurs, nodding to the cup in his hand. Soma closes his eyes and sighs, he didn’t have to look to know Agni was standing behind him, a gentle smile on his face (that might be more mocking now) and the same looks he wore when he died.

“Neither did I.” Soma answers, finishing the glass in one gulp and serving himself another one. “What brings you this room, Agni, if I may inquire?” he places the cork on the bottle and sips from the glass leisurely. The spirit level on his system increasing with each second.

“The question is rather offensive, I’m afraid. As there is no need to ask why would I not look after the person that saved me.” He still dares not look behind.

“Ah, I see.” It made perfect sense for the dead to haunt the quick, after all. But it did not make sense for the resting to haunt the quick, even less when it had passed a couple of years; just what brought his late khan here? “Is there anything in special you might need?” Maybe if he had some kind of request he could fulfil it and have his spirit really resting now.

“Is the Prince dismissing me?” The tone sounds almost wounded. Soma sips his brandy.

“Well, you are dead, so it shouldn’t surprise you that I dismiss you.” Agni does not answer, and after a whole minute, Soma looks back, for no-one to be there.

He takes no mind of it and pours himself another glass of brandy.

* * *

Next morning he asks a couple of his servants if they hadn’t noticed anything out of place―pieces from the silverware gone missing, his locket on the main room, the horses feeling distressed?―, and when the answer was negative, he decided that maybe talking with a séance was necessary.

* * *

He is in town for shopping. Valentine’s is near and he needs a gift for his sweetheart.

He decided to rest against a corner, walking for hours made him tired. From his suit he takes a pipe and some tobacco, he does not waste a second to light it.

“It saddens me to see you have gotten rid of your sherwanis and that you have acquired bad habits.” Soma is about to choke on the smoke when he remembers he is in a public place, and it would simply not do to make a scene. He tries to dissimulate his response with the puffs of smoke.

“I do not mean to sound rude, but I cannot reason how my current living is of any business to you. You died to protect me, you did your job, but you are no longer in my life. And I would prefer it if the dead kept resting.” A hand goes to one of his pockets, checks the clock and decides he’s done resting.

Agni does not follow him.

* * *

A week later he goes on a date with Hazel, the girl is delighted to spend time with her beloved and Soma complies.

He takes her to a fancy restaurant and ensures she had a rather peaceful evening; ever the chivalrous one, he offers his arm to hold onto, his jacket to step on if there is mud, his hand as support to get into the carriage.

Hazel giggles and stares starry-eyed at the prince, thanking her luck to god and the virgin and everything that is holy for having found a man like him.

At the end of the date, he offers her a small ring, asking with little to no nervousness if she wishes to be his forever. The moon shines pure and white, the stars twinkle and the life near the area seems thrilled.

Hazel tears up and answers―with a kiss―that, yes, she would be most delighted to wed him, if he is to have her, to love her.

It is rather easy to respond a ‘yes’ to ‘forever’. (Even if it is not true at all.)

* * *

A couple of nights later, Soma lies awake in his bed. Restless, but not tired. He rolls onto his back and stares at the ceiling, wondering if that could provide him an answer.

“Are you happy with her?” He does not want this right now.

Soma looks at the feet of his bed, and there is Agni. A seriousness to his face, the shadows darker than the rest of the rooms.

“Whatever do you mean?” He rolls onto his side, the one where he would not have to face his late khan.

“I meant that, if you are actually happy feigning a love that is not, luring the poor maiden into sure heartbreak when her husband cannot bring her the love she deserves.” Agni moves to his side, sliding on the floor with what Soma supposes, are spirit-like moves. He makes a breathy laugh and rolls to the other side.

“As if  _ you _ know what it is that my heart would rather have.” He means it as a rhetoric thing, not to be answered. He does not expect, and definitely does not want whatever Agni has to say to him.

“Of course I know the prince,” he approaches the other side, not making a single sound, and it sends shivers down his spine. “If I did not, then how would I be of use as a khan?” A hand to his chest, and a smile to his face, Agni looks so gentle. But Soma has learned that looks shall deceive.

“And what would that be?” He dreads it, he really does, or at least that’s what his stomach tells him about the feeling in the pit of his stomach. The smile on Agni’s face relaxes in a show of tenderness at his prince’s naïveté.

“Then I shall show the prince.” Soma hums and keeps his eyes closed, not at all caring what Agni has to show.

When he feels a butterfly touch on his neck―more shivers, but of different kind now―, though, he opens his eyes, alarmed. “Just what are you doing?” He deems it a rather useless, but it is not amusing in any way to touch him in way that could imply lust.

“What does it seem like?” The other hand goes to grab his prince’s, lifting the pyjama shirt and toying with more caresses the pectoral area. Soma’s breath quickens. “I just want what is best for my prince…” his motto is now a joke on him, amused eyes devouring a young soul that found its way to carnal desire.

The same hand travels to the abdomen, pinching parts of his belly and tangling his fingers with the few hairs that can be seen from the pyjama pants. The other hand―he also controls it―goes to remove the pants, trousers included. He did not need anything as an obstacle.

“My sweet prince,” Agni whispers into Soma’s ear, his hot breath sending more shivers down the man’s spine. Mocking, he licks it, and carves with his teeth a small mark in his neck.  _ “you are the one.” _

The hand now holding his member has a strong grip, the strokes are slow and steady. Breathless murmurs turn into soft moans, delightful music for anyone that enjoys voyeurism. Agni, holding Soma’s hands, keeps pumping, and the smile is still there, the damning, gentle smile is still there. Happy to see his prince finally admitting to himself the key to happiness.

“Say it.” He hardens his grip, making Soma moan especially high. “Say it, my prince.”

Soma manages to mumble  _ ‘Agni’ _ in-between his breathless gasps, it is all so surreal, yet, the hands on him are still there. The heat on him is still there. The delightful, sinful, presence of his late khan―perhaps now late lover―is still there.

And it’s still there until his release.

“I’m glad.”

And he is no longer there.

* * *

A couple of weeks, in a letter, he explains to a broken-hearted Hazel that they simply cannot be, and it would be best if she sought love somewhere else. Maybe in someone who could not simply let go of the past.

“Is it because your beloved looked like me and you wanted another woman like her?”

Soma nods when they meet.

(He abstains himself from saying that his beloved visits him in his dreams to remind him just who he loves.)

* * *

“Is there a special reason for your sulky mood?” Ciel is sitting in front of him, his mouth hidden behind his set of cards and the silence between his question and Soma’s answer is filled with the sound of sipping tea. His brow is furrowed and he expects a response with his usual regal chair position.

Soma looks between him and his butler―Sebastian is looking at them with something akin to interest, discreetly though―then shakes his head. Whatever is going through his head must remain there. Even if Ciel has already explained the nature of his butler and their relationship. He idly wonders if he should ask the latter for advice regarding his current issue.

“Nothing really.” He smiles and takes another cards.

“Liar.” He tries not to grimace at the voice. “Are you not feeling the bubbling in your stomach when you think of what they did to you? Do you not remember the rage you felt when they took you away from me?” Soma bites his lip, hoping for his irritation not to seethe through.  _ ‘Not at all,’ _ he wants to answer, but talking to the wind would seem utter madness. Sebastian’s surprise and amusement do not show if he sees Agni or not.

The late khan just chuckles. “And here I thought you cared more for me.”

“Enough.” Me murmurs, and when he looks at the other people staring at him he clears him throat. “Snacks, I mean. I’m afraid my stomach is rather stuffed.”

It would seem the devil is rather insistent. “But are you not mad at them? After all, Master Ciel does nothing but look down on you, and Mr. Sebastian has said rather cruel things to you―”

“Do you have a 4, Ciel?”

“―and let’s not forget about all the lies they have told you,” he plays with his sanity as if it were a mere thread, stretching it, looking for its breaking point. He leaned into the snacks table, his voice deepening. “All the times they have used you, abused you, and all for their  _ own. Sick. Amusement.” _

“I said enough!” His fists slam into the table, making quite the ruckus and spreading the candies over the floor. Ciel’s irritation over his tea being spilled on the carpet is shadowed by his surprise on his friend’s actions. Sebastian seems just as baffled. The prince trembles, not quite knowing how to answer for his actions and all the mess he’s made. The impression of a madman he must have caused upon his acquaintances.

Without another word, he flees the room, not looking at the devious smile from his late beloved who relinquishes in this.

* * *

It is rather dark out there, and the wind makes its voice known with the ruffle of the leaves. Soma tries not to shiver at the coldness, instead feeling numb.

He had ignored the letters from his friend asking for an explanation, and faked illness when they came to visit. He just did not feel up to talking with someone.

“Anything you have to say, Agni?” He taunts, and for a couple of seconds the wind is his only response.

“Nothing at all, my sweet prince.”

Soma snorts, his feet dangle from the roof and he feels light as air when he soars. Towards liberty, he hopes.

The devils laugh when he collides with the floor.

**Author's Note:**

> **Black Butler ©Yana Toboso.**
> 
> **I’ve been wanting to write something dark for quite some time, and I must admit I felt rather attracted to the ghost prompt. I must clarify, though, that it was not Agni, but rather some kind of demon. For Agni, not even as a ghost, would try to tempt, and taunt and mock his prince. Hope you enjoyed it, and I promise I’ll be back to writing my usual stuff.**
> 
> **Matane!**


End file.
